How…
“…did I save you? A spell, just like I told you, and not a terribly difficult one, once it came to mind. I’ve still some magic in me. I can even look…” he paused and scratched at the bridge of his nose, searching diligently for the correct term. “I can even look like I am alive if that makes you more comfortable.” His lips worked and his body took on color and substance, but there were a few spots where he was still semi-transparent. The venerable age he had reached in life was evident from the many deep creases on his face and the numerous spots on his hands and neck. “If I concentrate, I can almost look like my old impressive self.”
Thank you for saving me….
“Obelia was my name,” he interjected. “Obelia Durosinni D’l’athil of House Evner of Qualinost.”
So…you’re dead, Obelia.
“Yes, like everyone else who stayed when the cursed dragon and her forces came to call. My dear sister Elalage urged me to leave, but I would have nothing to do with the notion. I said I was too old, said she was too old, and that we should stay here. Said it would be safe in the city, great Qualinost would never fall. She called me an old fool and left that night, but Elalage was right; I was an old fool. Now I am a dead old fool in a city that is crushed to the bottom of a very deep lake.”
And…are you reading my mind? Is that how you know my questions?
“Not exactly, my elf-fish, but when I try hard, I can hear what you’re thinking. It would be hard to communicate with you otherwise.”
So you’re a sorcerer. Feril, beaming, couldn’t hide her pleasure.
“Well…I was a sorcerer, back when I was alive. Of some renown I might add.” He stepped between her and the window. “But to the matter of you. I find you a pretty puzzlement, and I must know what exactly you are and what brings you here to this dangerous lake. Why do you have gills and skin? Why do you brave this cold, cold graveyard to come poking about in what used to be my books?”
Feril glanced around the room, noting that the empty leather bindings of many books lay askew on the shelves and the floor. She was glad to be alive but didn’t like that Obelia was standing so close, blocking the quickest way out.
I am Ferilleeagh Dawnsprinter, she thought.
“A Kagonesti name! I was right! But you’ve got gills, Ferilleeagh Dawnsprinter. Gills! Such magic you must have. You must tell me everything, my pretty puzzlement.”
Feril wasn’t sure she trusted this dead sorcerer, but after all he had saved her life. Maybe he would be able to help Dhamon, so she told him everything, going back to when she first met Dhamon, to the torment he suffered because of the dragon scale inflicted upon him, to the time she spent alone after the incident at the Window to the Stars, to her affinity with nature magic.
“Such wonderful magic you possess! Ah, little elf-fish, were I alive I would beg you to teach me all that you know.”
Dhamon, she concentrated. He’s the reason why I’m here and…
She finished her long story. “Those two dragons, that shadow dragon and that silver dragon…they broke Malys’s control, and the scale on Dhamon’s leg turned black. The shadow dragon was a trickster, and his magic later caused scales to grow all over Dhamon.” Obelia was engrossed in her tale, pacing in front of the window and worrying at the bridge of his nose. He’d become wholly transparent again. “So this Dhamon fellow…a human…eventually turned into a dragon. Strange predicament. Now you’re hoping to find some magic here in this graveyard of a city to help him become a human again.”
Yes, Feril thought. There must be a way to save Dhamon. He looked into a crystal ball, and something there told him the answer rested in this lake.
“What an astonishing yarn you’ve spun for me, elf-fish.”
Is it possible?
“To help your friend? With something in this lake? Well, I really don’t know. This is a very big city and an even bigger lake, but looking for a remedy could be an interesting diversion for me. It could take a very long time.”
So you’ll help me?
“I insist on it!” Obelia made a tsk-tsking sound, wagging an insubstantial finger at her. “You shouldn’t seem so surprised, my pretty puzzlement. You’re the only living creature I’ve talked to since Qualinost sank. Of course I’ll help you. In fact, I’ll have to help you if you’re to have any chance of success. Who else will keep you warm down here in the deep cold waters? Who else will show you this city…without trying to make you a permanent part of it?”
Feril wanted to visit the home of every sorcerer and sage Obelia knew. The old elf said he could do just that, if she really wanted to—but there were a great many of them, and he would show her some of the city first to prove his point.
As they left the tower and glided above this section of the city, Feril saw that indeed the search would take a very long time. The city spread out beneath her like a graveyard of spires, manors, businesses, and small homes jutting up like tombstones from the lake floor. Qualinost looked at once peaceful and eerie, with spirits of the dead floating idly everywhere. The dark blue water distorted some things, making some buildings and objects appear larger or farther away than they really were.
“Serilait lived there many decades ago,” Obelia said, pointing at a three-sided building and interrupting Feril’s musings. “I fancied her once, and she had some interest in me, but magic took too much of my time, so Serilait found another and moved to the artist’s quarter.” He released a sigh that sounded like a long-held musical note. “She escaped the disaster with the dwarves through the tunnels under the city. I’m glad she and her family got away. She and Elalage and so many of my friends…I should have gone with them. I had some good years left to me.”
They passed over a park where the tree limbs had been trained to grow in attractive patterns, some in the shapes of animals, now distorted by ruin and water. Feril tried to picture what they would have looked like in the past and guessed one was a horse rearing, another a winged beast. There were sculptures in the center of the park, similar to the ones she’d seen in Deban’s gallery.
“Yes, they are his work,” Obelia said, answering her unspoken question.
Feril touched the enchanted crystal that Obelia had returned to her and which she’d tucked back under her belt. Obelia didn’t need any enchanted light to see, but the crystal helped her make out some of the details. She saw clearly now that many of the buildings had been damaged by magical attacks; doors and shutters had been torn apart. Broken vases, stools, and candleholders lay amid the bones outside a fanciful residential district. Perhaps the elves who stayed until the end had fought their enemies with any belonging they could wield like a club.
“Ilit-Ivo’s place,” Obelia said, pointing to another house. “One of the finest archers in Qualinost competitions. He won most of them, year after year after year. He finally tired of the trophies and the lack of any real opposition. He quit in the middle of a match one day and provided the best arrows for all the challengers thereafter. I thought he would have remained in the city, but he was persuaded to leave with the others, despite his hatred of the dwarves. Many of those who stayed broke into his weapons shop, looking for things to defend their homes. If you need a sword, my little elf-fish, we can…”
I wouldn’t mind one, Feril thought, but first I need to help Dhamon.
Another musical sigh, and Obelia led her toward the very center of the city, where the buildings looked older and smaller. As the city grew it spread outward in a circular pattern. The streets beneath her appeared as spokes on a wheel.